The Waiting Game
by December Writing Dragon
Summary: Russia and America have waited on approaching one another and it is draining on them- and their fellow nations. Since they don't seem ready to make a move, intervention comes from an unlikely source. Birthday fic of RusAme and SpUK.


**The Waiting Game**

He had often heard it said that the best things in life were worth the wait. For someone where immortality was a factor, such a notion could seem daunting. But if this statement held true, the wait would be worth it, surely.

Yes, Alfred conceded as he stared idly at the man gliding through the large double doors of the conference hall. Yes, this would be something he could wait as long as needed. Perhaps it was mere chance, or perhaps he had felt the sapphire gaze lingering on his features, but something compelled Russia to glance up at that moment, violet colliding with blue. Those amethyst eyes widened for an instant before the usual expression of polite interest took its place. Alfred's heart pounded in time with each step Russia took closer, until he was right beside Alfred and he could smell the fine cologne wafting from his clothes.

"Hello, America," Russia said nonchalantly, apparently unaware of just how silky Alfred found his Alfred gave a winning smile in return.

"Hey, Ruski. Ready to sit for hours on end?"

Russia let out a breathy laugh. "Hopefully it will be more productive than last time," he said.

Alfred rolled his eyes as they made their way to their seats. "Doubt it. England likes the sound of his own voice. His part's gonna last half the meeting, just watch."

"Perhaps."

Just as America reached his seat, Russia gave a small wave and turned away to sit beside his sisters. The words "you can sit with me if you want" died in America's throat as he watched the retreating figure. _Next time_ , he promised himself.

0o0o0

As it happened, Alfred did not need to take matters quite into his own hands for "next time" to be a reality. Just as he had predicted, England's turn to speak had lasted all the way until lunch. Spain, who was hosting the meeting, was taking every chance to get things moving as fast as possible after that. They were all arranged by the order in which they'd speak, and unlike previous meetings, they would be assigned a time to go. The Spaniard had placed America and Russia beside each other, apparently figuring that Russia was quiet enough anyway that he wouldn't go beyond the time slot, and America was a fast talker and would want to get done and go home. Germany went before both them, and Alfred took this moment to cast a sidelong glance at Russia, whose façade of polite interest could endure only so much. When he wasn't taking notes he was doodling idly in the margins of his notebook. Alfred peered down and saw flowers connected by a scrollwork of vines; lower down he could see random geometric shapes stacked one atop another; below that were highly expressive caricatures of everyone at the meeting. Alfred let out a peel of quiet laughter, pointing with the tip of his pencil at the large eyebrows obstructing half of England's face.

Russia glanced over at him before grinning. Doodle-America was sneaking up behind England with a pair of scissors. Alfred leaned down and drew an arrow to said scissors and wrote out "hedge clippers." This earned him a full out bark of laughter from Russia, causing all heads to snap in their direction. Both nations cast them apologetic looks, neither taking note of the triumphant smirk playing across Spain's face as Germany glowered at them.

0o0o0

"Are there any restaurants you would recommend?" a voice sounded behind him. Alfred wheeled round and saw Russia looking back at him almost hesitantly, eyes meeting Alfred's for only a second before darting to somewhere above his shoulder.

"Uuuh," Alfred began intelligently. "Uh, yeah, actually. Wanna go together?" _Please let that not be too bold, please let that not be too bold, please let that not be too bold…_

"Actually I would like that very much," Russia said quickly.

"Oh…well…okay then."

They stood facing each other for a few minutes more. Alfred became painfully aware of just how close they were. He could see the faint tendrils of scars poking out below Russia's scarf. From the way Russia's deep, rich eyes were lingering on his face, he could have been counting the freckles spotting America's nose.

"Big brother?" What color remained in Russia's face drained as his little sister went to latch onto his arm. Before either Slavic nation could say another word, however, Spain swooped in from nowhere.

"Ah, Natalya, you know, many of my citizens have that name. I wonder if you know how the connection come about?" As he guided her away from the pair, Antonio sent an imploring look over his shoulder. But it was not to Russia or America he sent his silent pleas…

"That was weird," America said bluntly. Russia looked too relieved to care. He barely paid any notice as England bumped roughly into him, knocking his jacket askew. The only thing that had his attention was how the momentum caused him to stumble forward practically right into Alfred. America's hands flew out instinctively to help Russia keep his footing. Both made the mistake of letting their eyes meet, and Russia's face went from too pale to vivid pink. The freckles on America's face nearly vanished beneath the blush that burned at his cheeks. In a last-ditch attempt to normalize the situation he let his hands ghost over the fabric of Russia's suit, straightening the material on those broad shoulders. Even through the fabric, Alfred felt certain he could feel those muscles tense beneath his fingers.

"Hah, such a strange day," Russia breathed, muttering a soft word of thanks and straightening. It took all of America's willpower not to brush a stray hair away from Russia's eyes as the other gestured toward the exit.

0o0o0

Dinner proved much less stressful than any part of the day thus far. Once the two began to relax it became quite easy, almost natural, to hold an engaging conversation. They found they still had much of the same likes and hobbies; Russia learned that America still went stargazing every Sunday and liked to make elaborate snow forts. Ivan in turn told America of hiking through the mountains and the garden he maintained at his dacha. He even promised to show him and let him take some fruits and herbs with him.

The food was superb, another fact they could bond over.

"What're those crepes you make called?" America asked as he dunked his steak in sauce.

"Blini," Russia supplied, taking a sip of wine. "When did you last have some? You would like them."

"Yeah, nah, I remember. You rolled him up with jam in them and stuff."

Russia beamed, clearly pleased America remembered. "Da, that is right. I shall make some for you, if you wish?"

"You're gonna be feeding me a lot, dude. No complaints." America chortled, a light dusting of pink staining his cheeks.

"I am fine with this also," Russia admitted softly. Again that air of hesitance overcame him. He opened his mouth, only to think better of it. From then on his gaze seemed sad, almost remorseful. Alfred studied his dining companion closely, wishing he could wipe that glum look from those pale features; he looked so much nicer happy.

In a way, that wish was granted when the bill arrived. As Russia scooped through his pockets to pay his half, alarm filled his eyes. "Alfred, my wallet…what…I must have left it at the conference." He swore, a large hand running through platinum blond locks.

America would have none of it. Not when Ivan had just used his human name so seamlessly. "No sweat, big guy, you're feeding me for like a month next time I visit, remember?" Russia opened his mouth to argue back, but was silenced as Alfred raised the Finger of Authority. "No, shush, zip it, if it means so much to you I'll consider letting you pay me back when you get your wallet back, but no promises. For now just chill." Heh, chill…

Clearly not entirely pleased Russia consented to sit back in his chair with a sullen glare at the table before him, as if the plates had personally offended him. Alfred made quick work of the bill, and the pair dashed off back to the conference building. The place was quite abandoned, but thankfully they quickly found Russia's wallet lying on the table.

"Strange," Russia muttered as he checked the inside and found all his money still there. "This was not where I sat today."

"Huh." America glanced around. "That is weird." It got weirded still when they went to exit.

The doors were locked.

"WHO LOCKS IT FROM THE OUTSIDE?" Alfred bellowed as he pushed against the door, Russia soon throwing his own weight against this. "Look out, big guy, I got this," he added, rolling up his sleeves.

"I would not do that," Russia said quickly. "This is property of the Spanish government. Neither Spain nor his bosses would be too pleased by the damage."

"But we need to get out," America whined, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. Russia sat more gracefully beside him just as glumly.

"Da, but perhaps you could call someone in the meantime?" he suggested. "My phone was not with my wallet," he added in explanation.

"Dang, dude. Not having the best day."

"It was not so bad," Russia said quietly, biting his lip. It was now or never… "I was able to spend time with you."

The room suddenly felt very hot to Alfred, who found himself tugging at the collar of his shirt. "Back at ya, big guy." He forced himself to meet Ivan's gaze, a sudden braveness stealing over him. "We should really do it again. I missed this, you know, us, and…all that."

Ivan was looking deep into Alfred's eyes now, and at once everything seemed to click back into place. It was like reliving an old memory, remembering just how natural it all was, that they'd done this before and still could.

"It's pretty hard to talk when you're so darn kissable," America murmured.

"I just focus on how I would like to run my fingers through your hair again. Like this." Pale calloused fingers grazed gently through honey colored locks. America leaned into the touch, a sigh passing through his lips, taking with it a tension he did not know he'd been bearing.

"I missed you, big guy," he said in a choked moan.

"I missed you too, sunflower," Ivan admitted. His hand came to rest against Alfred's cheek, the roughness of his thumb offset by the gentle circles he was rubbing just below his eye. Alfred could have stayed like that forever, but he also wanted to roll with the moment, and so his fingers tilted Ivan's chin so they were close enough that their breath tickled against each other's faces.

"Hey, if you're not…Russian off anywhere, we should kiss for a bit," Alfred said as suavely as he could. Ivan blinked before breaking out into a string of laughter, eyes rolling in exasperation.

"Hey, come on, man!" Alfred said in mock reproach. "I thought that was pretty good!"

"Watch your ego, cowboy," Ivan warned, poking him in the nose. "You are like matryoshka doll, full of yourself."

"Dude," Alfred said shortly, snatching at the offending finger. He used it to gently tug Ivan towards him. "First, how dare you. Second, just shut up and kiss me."

"Very well," Ivan said in feigned exasperation. Their lips locked, and at last the final puzzle piece fell into place.

0o0o0

"I think we're in the clear," Spain whispered into his phone, just outside the "locked" doors.

"Why do you say that? Can you be sure?" England asked from his place outside the building. "I told you, we should have bugged this place."

"No, no, amor, that is hardly necessary. Trust me when I say the mission was a success," Spain assured him as the tinkle of laughter drifted through the crack in the door. He pocketed the phone, retreated down the hall a bit, then jogged back to the door, making it as though he had been in a great rush. In one fluid motion he threw the doors open to find Russia and America laughing openly as they tried to dance to some unheard tune. They both paused at the sound of Antonio's entrance. "Ah, so sorry about the mishap, gentlemen. I got a call that you two had come back but never left. The doors are so pesky- that's why we had to leave them open during our meeting. I'll have it fixed for next time, I promise."

"No prob, dude," America assured, waving his apology away. Russia nodded in agreement. "C'mon, Vanya, let's go pick out a new phone for you."

In the end they settled on the same model as Russia's original phone. The real joy came from picking out a case, which Alfred persuaded Ivan to let him decide. The bubbly American had bought them each matching vibrant red cases. Ivan had laughed for five minutes straight.

His original phone appeared mysteriously at his doorstep a week later, after he heard a knock but no one present. He did not have long to dwell on the matter as he was tugged back inside by an impatient American who wanted the blini he had been promised.

Hours later, Spain and England celebrated their triumph with a picnic in the countryside. "Thought I wouldn't be able to nab anything," England confessed as he bit into a sandwich. "But I got the phone and wallet."

"Was that not overkill?" Spain asked, eyebrow raising.

"The more the merrier, I say," England said, shrugging. "Anything to get them back to where we could make them interact. Honestly, how old are they?"

"Well, in the end, we were successful, si? We threw in as many excuses to get them near each other and got them to just start going out already."

"Mmhmm."

Victory tasted sweet.

THE END

EPILOGUE

"Where do you wanna sit?" Alfred asked as they edged carefully through the darkened theater, wielding snacks and drinks.

"Back middle?" Ivan suggested.

"Probably a good idea," Alfred agreed, taking note of Russia's height and the obstacle that would provide to anyone sitting behind him. So they tiptoed up to their desired spots, settling down with a nice clear view of the screen, currently flashing a mixture of advertisements and warnings to turn off all electronics. America slurped noisily at his soda while Russia changed his phone to silent. "This should be really good. Looks a hell of a lot different from the show though."

"It does," Russia said with a nod, popping a snow cap into his mouth. The remaining five minutes was spent with idle chitchat, both men feeling quite at ease. This was a chance for them to forget their responsibilities and just be Alfred and Ivan. Even then, warm butterflies danced not unpleasantly in each of their stomachs with every brush of the elbow or nudge of the foot. It was nice, to actually try and act only human for the day; they had their chance at bumbling flirtations and experimental kisses, learning just how many colors could be spotted in each other's eyes when the sun hit it, or else memorize the texture of their hair. America had made a fast habit out of patting and carding his fingers through Russia's hair, though the lack of consistent complaint gave him no reason to cease.

Indeed, as the action scenes played out before them, Alfred's hand found itself gently clasping Ivan's, with no real memory of how they got that way. He gave him an appreciative squeeze when a certain KGB agent made his first appearance on the screen. "That's him," he breathed, causing the little curls around Russia's ear to shift slightly.

"I like him," Russia declared quietly then and there. This won him a nudge.

"In a totally unbiased way, I'm sure," came America's sarcastic reply. Russia nodded beside him.

"Aw yeah, time to kick some Nazi butt!" Alfred chirped, punching the air with his free hand.

"Always refreshing," Russia whispered back, not taking his eyes from the screen.

The characters faced hard decisions and faced them with what could never be called grace, though certainly with excellent fashion. Alfred was pleasantly surprised to see Ivan quite engrossed in the film; he was leaning forward in his seat and nearly rose to his feet altogether when his "favorite" almost drowned, only to be rescued by Alfred's favorite.

Then things turned…not awkward, but…different. Alfred found himself becoming painfully aware of certain similarities between the cinematic duo and he and Ivan. Height difference being just one among many things. That certain cat-and-mouse dynamic was all too present throughout the movie, and it was not long before he found himself rooting for them to drop all their grudges already and play nice.

 _Didn't Russia use that nickname a few days ago…?_

That didn't help.

"Don't do it, nooo, no, no, no, no, noooooooooo," Alfred pleaded with the screen as one character confronted the other, murder in his every movement. A quick glance to the side showed Russia looking rather forlorn, the corners of his violet eyes drooped downward in disapproval. Both were squeezing each other's hands.

The entire room seemed to sigh with relief when the situation was averted. Russia's entire posture relaxed, and America gave the air another winning punch.

Mission successful.

"That. Was. EPIC," America declared loudly as they ambled out, blinking in the sudden brightness of the outdoors.

Russia smiled that cool smile of his as he agreed "That was very good. I would not mind seeing it again."

"We should go marathon the show," America said excitedly, not noticing the small crowd forming near them.

Russia stared back with open skepticism. "Do you know how long that will take?"

"Who cares?" America said with a wave of his hands. "C'mon, Ruski, we don't have anywhere to be."

Ivan let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head. Glancing at his watch, he muttered "You make me make such poor choices, cowboy."

America's reply was lost in the screech of delight that came from one of the members of the crowd, an excited woman who just came out of the same movie they did. "You two are just like them, oh my gosh!"

Their plans to marathon the show were delayed slightly as several moviegoers asked them to recite lines of dialogue and action sequences. Apparently everyone else had the same idea as Alfred. He couldn't really find it in him to complain though. It meant more time with Ivan, and they had a lot of catching up to do. He certainly had no reason to complain when one of the fans produced a hat similar to Illya's.

The mission was still a success.

THE END


End file.
